


Seven Years at Hogwarts

by jacobgrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacobgrey/pseuds/jacobgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the same timeline of Harry Potter's life at Hogwarts, another student joins the school for their first year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**This fanfic, first of all, is the result of an ongoing voting and donation system on Kofk. You can view the thread from the link in my profile if you want to see the current status (or take a look in custom shops for the thread by Jacobgrey). That will give you an idea of where it is going next and how soon to expect the next chapter! You can of course join up to post, vote, and donate there if you like. I welcome hearing your ideas in reviews and messages if you don't wish to sign up however. The idea behind this fic is to follow an OC during the same time as the Harry Potter storyline at Hogwarts. How did the presence of Harry Potter affect the school days of the other students? Without further ado...**

Prologue  


_Fergus Denton Brabham_ , the letter read, above a neatly printed address which matched perfectly his own. It could only have been addressed to him. Still, he could hardly believe it as he lifted it from the doormat that sat at the foot of their front door.  


He lived with his parents in a house that could possibly have been called something like normal. Mr and Mrs Brabham, his parents, were sort of normal too. They were quite embarrassing sometimes, for example. His Mum made really great Sunday roasts, but she did like to sing loud songs from the eighties after a glass of wine or two. And his Dad just couldn’t dance. Even though he so often tried to.  


There were just a few things about his family that were a bit... well... different. First of all, his house was invisible. Or at least, it was to a lot of people. Some of the kids at his primary school had been very confused when he tried to tell them about where he lived. They told him that there was nothing but an empty field at the address that he had given them. Then there was the fact that his Mum made the roast without actually touching any of the ingredients. And that his Dad spent most Saturdays during the season cheering on his favourite Quidditch team.  


Fergus had always known that he was a bit different. That much he could tell just from the way the other parents looked. They didn’t wear long robes at home or talk about charms. Even though he had been brought up somewhat like a normal child, he knew that he wasn’t. He knew that his parents wanted him to be a wizard.  


He had always been just a little bit afraid, though. What if it turned out that he wasn’t magical at all? What if he had nothing to offer? What if Hogwarts, simply put, didn’t want him?  


But now all of his fears had been put right. The letter which he now held in his, slightly trembling, almost eleven year old hands, was his invitation to study. It had been dropped there by an owl which now perched expectantly on the windowsill next to the door. He knew that was what it was. His parents had described it to him. Told him what to expect. And now it was finally here.  


He stared at it for a while, almost dumbstruck. He was still unsure of what exactly to do when his Mum appeared in the corridor behind him.  


“What’s that you’ve got there, love?” she asked, although something in the far too casual tone of her voice inferred that she already knew.  


“I think I got in to Hogwarts,” he said, his voice only registering just above a whisper.  


“Oh, love!” she beamed, running forward to scoop him up into exactly the kind of embarrassing motherly embrace that a nearly eleven year old did not want. “That’s fantastic news! Colin, get in here!”  


His Dad came when summoned, so quickly that it was obvious he had been waiting just inside the kitchen to spring out. “Go on, then, son, open it!” he exclaimed, pointing at the letter with a grin plastered through the middle of his beard.  


Fergus opened the letter very slowly, almost reluctantly. He did not know exactly how he felt about Hogwarts just yet. He didn’t know how he felt about secondary school in general. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to move on from all of his friends, who were muggles through and through. But there it was, spelled out for all the world to see.  


_Dear Mr Brabham,_  
_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._  
_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._  
_Yours sincerely,_  
_Minerva McGonagall  
_ _Deputy Headmistress._

 

And so it was that on the 1st of September, Fergus Brabham was standing on the platform at King’s Cross station, looking at a wall between two other platforms and trying to figure out whether going through it was going to hurt. His Mum and Dad were stood beside him with a trolley laden up with his various new belongings. There were all sorts of books about things that he only half understood. There was a trunk full of clothes, including long wizarding robes and a hat. There was a telescope and a size two brass cauldron. There was a sleepy looking cat, his own from home, who had only just realised that he was not curled up in front of the fireplace. And there was a wand. Brand new, bought from Ollivander’s just the day before. Nine inches of ash wood, with a core of phoenix feather. He had been hoping for a dragon heartstring, but apparently that wasn’t right for him. His Dad had been pleased and had exclaimed that phoenix feather wands were the most rare, but Fergus wasn’t impressed. Why did it have to be so short, too? He had wanted a more impressive wand. Still, he had no choice now. He was stuck with it.  


Before he had the chance to complain, a firm hand on his back pushed him through on to Platform 9 ¾, and he was there. Looking around, he saw many other wizarding families milling around in front of the train. Some of them were weird and had odd clothes. Others looked like they might almost be normal, the same as his own parents. Yet others still were completely out of place, most likely muggles. There were plenty of students, too, but he didn’t recognise any of them.  


“You’ll make friends in no time at all, dear,” his Mum said, putting an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him close.  


“Just try and stick to the carriages with first years in so you don’t get any tricks played on you,” his Dad said, before his Mum shot him A Look.  


“Ignore your father, you’re going to be fine!” she said. “Now go on and get yourself comfortable. We’ve spent so long standing around outside that we’re almost late. I’m sure you can find plenty of carriages that are in need of a boy like you to fill them up.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus gets to Platform 9 3/4 and takes the Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working from the Kofk thread here (link on my profile). This chapter was fast tracked by a donation, so it's a little quicker than they will normally be coming.

Fergus slumped down into a seat in an empty carriage, carefully placing his cat onto the seat next to the window. Odin, the jet black feline who had been part of the Brabham family for almost two years now, barely opened his eyes before settling back into a comfortable sleep. He was a lazy cat. Fergus was already beginning to wonder how he was going to be any help whatsoever in his classes.

He was not alone for long. There were students running up and down the corridors, and outside on the platform too. The closed door only allowed a brief respite from the noise and bustle of the train. He had only been sat down for a couple of minutes before it slid open again, allowing all the brouhaha to spill in. He looked up, startled, to see a young girl with curly hair sticking out from her head at what must have been an exaggerated angle.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Is this carriage taken?”

Fergus stared at her for a moment, feeling a slight blush colour his cheeks. He was not very good at meeting new people like this. “I guess not. I just came and sat here because it was empty,” he said, speaking perhaps a little bit too quickly.

“You won’t mind if I come and sit with you, then,” the girl said, making her way in quickly with a large cage in one hand. A tawny owl sat within it, occasionally ruffling its feathers and looking rather displeased.

Fergus didn’t suppose that he would mind, but he felt a little indignant at not being asked properly, all the same. The girl sat down on the seat opposite him, stowing her owl beside her and taking a glance at the window before speaking again.

“I’m Chrissie,” she said, extending a small and rather prim hand to him all of a sudden. “Chrissie Maria Oberman. And my owl here is called Harriet.”

“Fergus,” he replied, shaking the hand with a little hesitation. Her hand was smooth and soft. “Fergus Denton Brabham. And this is my cat, Odin.”

“What kind of middle name is Denton?” she asked, straight away, then shook her head with a grin. “Wait, no. What kind of name for a cat is Odin?”

The cat stirred his head, opening his eyes at having been called twice. Fergus was trying to open his mouth to protest, but before he could manage to get anything out, the door slid open again. A boy filled the door frame now, taller than either Fergus or Chrissie, and with his hair gelled up into obnoxious looking spikes. He was not carrying any kind of animal, but he was chewing gum with his mouth open.

“Alright?” he asked by way of greeting, entering their little room and sitting down next to Fergus without any further extrapolation. “Jeremy Star’s the name. Who’s excited about going to Hogwarts then?”

“I’m Chrissie Maria Oberman,” she replied, with barely a pause. “And I’m definitely excited!”

“It’s gonna be a rollercoaster ride,” Jeremy said, in what was clearly a London accent. “Time of our lives and all that. Personally, I can’t _wait_ to get started on some charms and potions.”

“Why’s that?” Chrissie asked.

“Well, I’ve heard you can make potions for just about anything. And charms, too,” Jeremy said, looking around as if to keep what he was saying a confidential secret from prying ears. “Ladies LOVE them, of course. Nothing like a bit of a romance charm!”

Chrissie giggled, and shook her head. “You’re just talking big,” she said, though it was clear she was at least a little bit charmed already. “You don’t mean that.”

Fergus looked between the two of them, feeling what could only be described as bafflement. What on earth was going on here? This boy just plonked himself down on the next seat, as if it was the most natural thing in the world...

“What’s your name, then?” Jeremy asked, turning on him suddenly.

“Fergus,” Chrissie cut in for him, quickly.

“Does it not speak?” Jeremy asked, laughing.

“I speak,” Fergus managed, finally.

“Fantastic,” Jeremy laughed again, patting him on the shoulder. “I thought we were gonna have to get you a pen and some paper for a minute. Too much unnecessary reading does not make me happy! You can call me Jezza, by the way.”

“Fantastic,” Fergus repeated, half under his breath and an octave higher. Unfortunately, it looked as though these two were his cabin-mates for the whole journey to Hogwarts.

Though he was not fond of their entrances, after a while he began to relax a little. Jeremy was full of confidence and bravado and seemed able to carry a whole conversation on his own. Chrissie, while not shy herself, was also willing to sit back and listen every now and then. From time to time, the two of them would remember to bring Fergus back into the conversation.

After they had settled in, Odin stretched his long legs and stood up, and began to pad around in exploration. His investigation of Harriet’s cage only earned him a screech and a flapping of wings in his general direction. Chrissie quickly shooed the cat away, and Fergus gathered him up onto his lap to prevent any further mishaps.

Jeremy had a few chocolate frogs in his bag, and he shared them out so that they could all have a couple. Fergus was happy to receive something that was normally only a special treat at home. Wizarding things had been in somewhat short supply at home. His Mum had been born to muggle parents, and she wanted him to grow up in something close to a normal life. Still, she had prepared him to be a wizard too. He had a grand total of four chocolate frog cards, all of which were safely tucked inside his trunk right now. This card was a new one to him. He stuffed it into his pocket happily, and the three of them talked a lot more comfortably from then on.

He learned a few things about them. Chrissie was the daughter of a couple who owned a shop in Diagon Alley, selling various clothing items aimed towards witches and wizards. Thanks to this, she considered herself to be a bit of a fashionista. That probably explained the purple shoes she was wearing, which seemed to Fergus to be more like something that a genie ought to wear.

Jeremy, on the other hand, was not giving away much other than the fact that he was very much into sports. Quidditch was a firm favourite of his, but he also followed the muggle game of football. If he had not been wizarding material, he explained, he would have gone to a sports college instead and become a footballer. But he had received his invitation to attend Hogwarts, and so that was that.

The train came to a stop earlier than had seemed possible, and soon they were getting up, gathering up their various pets and chocolate frog cards and getting ready to leave. Now that they were almost there, Fergus suddenly felt a shock of fear running through him. What was going to happen? What would their first day be like? Would he even get to see Chrissie and Jeremy once they had been sorted into houses and shipped off to their dorms?

As they disembarked from the train, it seemed like everyone around them was excited – and not just about their arrival at Hogwarts. People all around them were whispering, and some even pointing. Others had dark looks on their faces which seemed to suggest that something was making them uncomfortable.

As they passed by a couple of students who had stopped to whisper at the side of one of the carriages, Jeremy leaned in to get the gossip. “What’s everyone talking about?” he asked.

“There’s a rumour going round,” one of the others hissed in his direction. “They say The Boy Who Lived is here.”

“Harry Potter?!” Chrissie butted in, her hair flying around behind her as she spun around to join them. “Here, on the train?”

“And here, going to Hogwarts,” the other replied. “They reckon that some kid, Draco Malfoy, went and found him. Everyone’s talking about him.”

Fergus, Jeremy, and Chrissie drifted along with the throng of the other students, shaking their heads in wonder. “I’d like to see him if he’s really here,” Chrissie said. “There hasn’t been much news of him since You-Know-Who tried to... well... you know.”

Fergus shook his head. “He’s not really a celebrity, you know,” he said. “He was just a baby when that happened. And so were we. It’s not like we actually remember it happening.”

Jeremy gave a long, low whistle. “Got something against The Kid What Did, have you?” he said. “You can be sure he’s gonna make it interesting for the rest of us.”

“Firs’ years over ‘ere!”

The bellowing voice summoned them in the correct direction, and before long Fergus saw the boats out ahead of them which would take them across the Black Lake. He went forward with some trepidation, aware that every step in this direction was taking him closer to his first school year and everything that would come with it. He and Jeremy boarded the same boat, only to look around and see Chrissie standing on the shore where they had left her.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered, her face the picture of misery.

Jeremy stood up and climbed out of the boat again, extending a hand towards her. “Come on. It’s magic. They won’t let anything happen to any of us.”

Reluctantly she joined them. As the boats launched, they lurched a little in the water, and she suddenly grabbed tight hold of Fergus’ arm. Although his first reaction was to flinch, he held steady, allowing her to take some comfort from him. After a while, it even seemed somewhat nice. However, he did not have much time to focus on that. Up ahead of them, looming up almost as if out of the water, was the sight that they had all been waiting to see. Hogwarts. Here at last.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the sorting hat to make its choices...

Fergus shifted around uncomfortably, wishing he could get this long first day over with. Hadn’t he had enough excitement already? Meeting Chrissie and Jeremy on the train after being thrown through a wall, and then having to travel all this way? Now they had to listen to a singing hat…

It was magical, of course, in all sense of the word. It was truly wonderful that a hat could have the ability to sing. It was just that this one was battered, did not have a particularly good singing voice, and apparently had a penchant for long and wordy songs that had far too many unnecessary lines.

He pricked up his ears, however, when the hat finally got on to its second verse. It was describing the houses and where a student might fit – something that was of particular concern to Fergus at that moment. He listened closely: _daring, nerve, and chivalry_ – No, that didn’t sound right at all; Gryffindor was not the kind of place he would like to be. It didn’t sound so bad to be a _just and loyal_ Hufflepuff, but then again they had to be _unafraid of toil_ , and Fergus did not like the sound of that.

As for Ravenclaw, could he really describe himself as being _of wit and learning_? He hadn’t always been good at tests in school, and he didn’t particularly enjoy seeking out a book at all hours of the day. So what was left? Slytherin? He was in such a panic by the end of the verse that all he really managed to understand was something about finding _your real friends_ , which sounded very nice indeed.

It wasn’t long before students were starting to move forwards for their turn on the little three legged stool, and Fergus felt his heart fluttering in his chest. In front of him, Jeremy was peering excitedly forward and moving from one foot to the other to try and get a better look. Behind, Chrissie was fiddling with the pendant of a necklace that she had pulled out from under her clothes, apparently for something to do. The atmosphere was almost electric.

Fergus did not have long to wait. He was a Brabham, after all, and the hat worked in alphabetical order. His name was called out, and with a shiver, he swallowed and walked forward.

He had expected the hat to be heavier, somehow – after all, it was enchanted. Still, he put it on his head, wincing a little at the thought of how dirty and shabby it was, and how many other peoples’ heads it had sat on.

“So, not afraid to mince your words, are you…” the hat said, quietly, almost right into his mind. Fergus jumped; he had forgotten that the hat could read minds. He briefly considered forming an apology, but the hat had already moved on. “Yes, I see, quite unsuited to any sort of bravery or academic achievement, aren’t you…”

Fergus frowned. _That’s not very nice,_ he thought.

“You weren’t very nice to me,” the hat pointed out, seeming to clear its throat then before shouting out, “SLYTHERIN!”

Fergus took off the hat with a sense of relief that it was all over, and then a niggling sense of anxiety about the nature of his new house. He quickly walked over to take a seat on their benches, perched awkwardly at the end of a row, hoping that everyone would stop looking at him now that he was done. Of course, they did.

There was little to remark on most of the sortings – they were all like him, nervously waiting their turn and then getting sorted somewhere seemingly at random. There were some cheers on his table when they finally reached the second half of the alphabet and a blond-haired boy named Draco Malfoy joined them; he seemed to have a lot of friends in the house already. He had probably been brought up close to wizarding society. Fergus felt a tinge of envy.

There was certainly a moment when his heart almost skipped a beat: Chrissie stepped up for her turn soon after Malfoy, and the hat almost did not touch her head before it shouted out “Slytherin!” once again. He felt an almost guiltily selfish wave of relief. At least he would know someone in his house to begin with. She breathlessly sat down next to him wearing a grin from ear to ear, looking around at her new fellow Slytherins and laughing. Perhaps she had known already where she wanted to go.

The biggest stir, however, ran through the room as Harry Potter stepped up to try on the hat. Everyone had been jostling and pointing at him since the train arrived at Hogwarts, and now the whispering intensified. Fergus tried to maintain a distant lack of curiosity, but despite himself, he stared open-mouthed as well. This, after all, was the Boy Who Lived. The one who had defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. He looked ordinary – except for the scar on his forehead.

The hat seemed to take a long time deciding what to do with him, during which time the whispers grew in intensity. People were speculating – guessing what house he would go into. Chrissie leaned back to whisper at Fergus, with confidence: “Gryffindor”.

“Gryffindor!” the hat shouted, not a moment later, and cheers rang out from the table that seated his new house. He walked over to join them, the eyes of everyone in the room still fixed on him.

Still, there was not much time to worry about some minor celebrity in their midst. The hat was already calling out again, beckoning forward each student and telling them where to go.

Then, before long, it was Jeremy’s turn. Fergus watched intently as the hat sat on his head, apparently having a quiet chat with him. This, he felt somehow, was a pivotal moment. This would decide how things were to go during his first year at Hogwarts. For a brief, ugly second, he fervently hoped that Jeremy would not be Slytherin.

“Gryffindor!” shouted the hat, and Fergus grinned with relief – neither for the first or the last time that day.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus finds himself in the Slytherin common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vote for this chapter was whether Fergus should find a new friend in Slytherin; the answer was yes.

Soon enough, it was time enough to head to the dorm rooms, and to find out where they would all be sleeping for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. That in itself was a bit of a terrifying thought for Fergus. What if he ended up in a room with people that he did not like? He knew he wasn’t going to have to put up with Jeremy, but at the same time, he couldn’t share with Chrissie either.

They headed to the Slytherin common room behind a prefect, a whole bunch of new Slytherins gaggling through the corridor together. Chrissie stayed close behind him, though there was not much chance to chat. They were all too busy being awed by the moving staircases and all of the paintings on the walls waving greetings at them.

“This way to the Slytherin dungeon,” the prefect called out, and Fergus gave Chrissie a sidelong glance. That wasn’t ominous at all.

Up ahead of them in the group, a blond haired boy was laughing and joking around, followed closely by a couple of what could only be described as goons. Fergus has seen that kind of kid before, at his old school. That kind of kid was best stayed away from if you wanted to keep hold of your lunch money, he had discovered. They were hanging on every word of the blond one, clearly already a fan of his.

“He’s going to be nothing but trouble, that Potter,” he was exclaiming, seemingly annoyed by something that had happened earlier. Fergus didn’t know what, and he wasn’t really sure that he wanted to find out. “You mark my words. This school is going to go to the dogs now.”

“You’re so right, Draco,” one of the half-apes beside him said.

Another boy in the group near them scoffed, just loud enough that Fergus and Chrissie could hear. Draco and his goons apparently did not. Fergus glanced over at him, almost taken aback.

The boy was dark-skinned and elegant looking, with a finely chiselled nose that looked like it was used to turning up at things. Next to him, Fergus heard Chrissie give a very quiet, almost imperceptible sigh. He looked over at her to realise that she, too, was staring at the boy who had made the noise. Fergus didn’t know whether he was amused by that or annoyed by the dreamy look on her face.

Around them, the rest of the new Slytherins were mostly quiet, though a few whispered amongst themselves. There was one girl with blonde hair who looked a little like Draco, in some distant-relation sort of way, and seemed to float like a queen through the corridors. Even just by looking at her Fergus knew she had to be a pureblood, and from an old family too. There was another girl who was rather short and fat, not the sort that Fergus would like to mess with judging by the slightly dangerous look in her eyes, and one more with long dark hair who was actually quite pretty. Then there was Draco and his two ape-men, the dark-skinned scoffer, himself, and Chrissie. It seemed like this was the whole of their first-year group.

They headed through the dungeons and then stopped before a seemingly blank stone wall. Fergus inwardly groaned. They didn’t have to run through another wall, like at the train station, did they? That was the last thing he wanted to have to do every day.

“Welcome,” said the prefect loudly, and suddenly a passageway appeared where a moment before there had only been wall. He smiled, a tad condescendingly. “The password to enter the Slytherin common room for the next two weeks will be the word welcome. Don’t forget it, first years – you can’t get in here unless you say the password.”

The common room was magnificent. It truly deserved the name dungeon, though only in the sense that it was made of stone and low underground. When the prefect pointed to the ceiling and announced that the lake was above their heads, Fergus could believe it right away. There was a green tinge to the light that came through the windows, bathing everything in the colour of the house. Leather sofas of black and dark green were scattered around the place, along with tapestries that displayed bold and rich artwork. Above a crackling fire was a large coat of arms carved into stone – the snake of Slytherin baring its fangs.

Chrissie gasped as she looked around. It could not be called warm or cosy, this common room. But it was definitely magnificent.

“Pay attention to this noticeboard,” the prefect warned them ominously. “The password to the dungeon changes every two weeks, and you will need it to get in. The new word will be posted up here, so make sure you look out for it and memorise it. I don’t want stories of you first-years losing points for Slytherin because you get locked out and caught after hours.”

Draco laughed loudly, elbowing one of his cronies in the side. “I bet those Weasley rats we saw on the train have done that once or twice!” he guffawed.

“We don’t want to lower ourselves to the standards of others,” said the prefect, in a tone that neither agreed with nor disapproved of Draco’s words. “Now, you first years will all be bunking together in the dorm rooms. There’s one side for boys, and one side for girls. You head down the stairs and find the sign that says first years, alright? Shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you lot. You’d better start getting to know your roommates, too, since you’ll all be sharing a dorm for the whole of your time at Hogwarts.”

With some good-natured shoving and chuckling, the new inhabitants of the boy’s dormitory started to head towards their new room, each of them taking a look around at the common room in awe as they passed forward.

“Well… see you later,” Fergus said to Chrissie, who was already half-turning to go with a group of giggling girls in the opposite direction.

“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling. “We’ll have to meet up with Jez!”

Fergus allowed himself to turn his back to her before he rolled his eyes.

 

Once in the dorms, everyone else started settling in – taking bits and pieces out of their trunks, organising, putting up photographs beside their beds and little keepsakes. Fergus for his part was very pleased to see Odin curled up asleep on his new bed, even if the lazy cat didn’t even stir when he tried to wake him up.

“Nice cat,” said the dark-skinned boy from before, looking at Odin with one eyebrow arched in what could have been either mockery or appreciation.

“He’s called Odin,” Fergus said, for lack of anything else to add.

“And you?”

“Oh, my name’s Fergus,” he said, half-laughing at himself for introducing the cat first.

“I’m Blaise,” said Blaise, with an air that made Fergus genuinely wish he had at least brushed his hair a little straighter that morning. “Now if you don’t mind me saying, we have _got_ to do something about your clothes.”

“We… do?” Fergus asked hesitantly, looking down at his plain robes and the slightly shabby jeans and t-shirt he wore beneath them.

Blaise grinned, not unlike the grin of a serpent about to dislocate its jaw and eat a victim whole. “Well, if you’re going to be out there representing Slytherin house, we can’t have you looking like that. It’s a matter of _pride._ ”

 

For the remainder of the evening before they all dropped off to sleep, Fergus had to admit that the dorm was not as terrible an environment as he had imagined. Crabbe and Goyle, as he learned their names were, were too busy fawning over Draco to pay any attention to him. Draco for his part was holding court about the arrival of Harry Potter and how awful it was to have mudbloods in the school and other such subjects, things that Blaise would occasionally give a knowing laugh to. Meanwhile, Blaise showed Fergus how to make his wardrobe a little less shabby and brush his hair back in a way that was a little neater. Though he scoffed in a way that was almost hurtful at a few of Fergus’ clothes from home, he was not quite so cruel as to openly criticise them. He even offered to take him shopping the first time they were allowed out for a trip. Looking around, Fergus thought: _the sorting hat was right. Looks like I might have found a friend after all._


	5. First day of class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fergus takes History of Magic and Potions, his first two lessons.

After a night of fitful sleep, in which Fergus kept being awoken by the unfamiliar snores of four other boys, the day dawned on their first scheduled lessons. Getting up and dressing in wizard robes felt a little odd, though after all, it was just the same as wearing any kind of school uniform. Perhaps it looked a little different to what most kids his age had to wear, but so what? This was not exactly the kind of school where normal rules applied.

His first class was History of Magic, and he filed down into the common room eagerly, behind Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and their de facto leader Draco. The room was just as exciting and mystical as it had been the night before, and Chrissie was also already waiting there with a group of Slytherin girls.

“History of Magic,” she said to him excitedly, pushing her unruly curls behind one ear. “I heard this one’s just so boring. But apparently the teacher is a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Fergus repeated, disbelieving. “I know there were some ghosts at the feast, but a teacher?”

“It’s true,” Blaise confirmed, listening in on their conversation. “Someone told me he doesn’t even know he’s a ghost.”

“How couldn’t he?” Fergus asked. “Ghosts are all… see-through. And he must have noticed he doesn’t have a real body anymore.”

“You’ll see,” Chrissie promised – and indeed, they were all going to see sooner rather than later, as the walk across the school was already halfway finished as they talked. They headed for Classroom 4F on the first floor, not too much of a climb away from the dungeons.  
They all took their seats in front of Professor Cuthbert Binns, who was, in fact, really a ghost. Sandwiched between Blaise and Chrissie, Fergus endured elbow nudges and knowing looks from the both of them.   
Even though he was very interested in learning about magic history, particularly given the fact that he had grown up outside of the wizarding world for the most part, Fergus quickly found that it was very difficult to concentrate on Professor Binn’s words. They droned on and on, almost merging together thanks to the old ghost’s dull and monotonous voice. It was as much as he could do to keep his eyes open.

Suddenly, a loud snore rang out from the row behind him, causing the rest of the class to dissolve into giggles. Glancing back, he saw a sheepish Crabbe picking himself up from the desk, while Draco gave him an evil look. 

As far as Hogwarts went, it was not the most magical start to the year. Fergus had been expecting excitement on a grand scale, spells and potions and flying around, not this boring rubbish. He could have studied history from an ancient teacher at any old school. He began to grow restless, but thankfully it was only a little while longer before the class was over. Then, at last, they could all breathe a sigh of relief and get ready to go on to the next lesson.

“This is going to be fantastic,” Draco was saying, as they all started to file out into the corridor. “Professor Snape won’t let that Potter kid get away with anything. Mark my words, this is one not to miss, Goyle.”

Whether his prediction was accurate or not was something that they would find out very soon. As they lined up outside the classroom, the Slytherins found themselves face to face with the Gryffindor first years. This was a shared lesson, the first of its kind that either group had encountered. It was also to be their first taste of real magic, and that was seriously exciting. 

Down here in the dungeons, Fergus felt a little more like he was in his own domain. This was Slytherin territory if it was anything, and their head of house was the potions master. The Gryffindors were going to be on the back foot. 

Professor Snape swept into the room in a swirl of black robes and began to take the class register almost immediately. There was no preface to his class just yet; he simply read down the list of names in a clipped and nasal tone, sounding as if he had plenty of places to be which were much more exciting than this. He only paused to look up once. 

“Ah yes,” he said, softly. “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”

Sitting in front of Fergus this time, Draco snickered, nudging Crabbe and Goyle to join in. Snape finished the register and finally addressed the whole class. 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” Professor Snape told them magnificently. 

Fergus’ breath caught in his throat. This was the kind of class that he had been waiting for. 

Then Snape began to mercilessly quiz Harry Potter, picking him out of the front row and directing question after question at him. It was clear that he knew none of the answers, even though a frizzy-haired girl next to him was quite keen to offer them. With every question, Draco and his two friends were visibly shaking with laughter. Blaise, sitting beside Fergus, was a little more reserved; as for Chrissie, she was barely even paying attention. She had managed to get Jeremy to sit next to her on the end of their bench, and she had been smiling weirdly at him ever since they had made it to the classroom. As for Fergus, he was just reasonably pleased that having Chrissie in between them meant he was not forced to talk with Jezza personally.

Finally, Snape put them all into pairs: Slytherin with Slytherin and Gryffindor with Gryffindor, no mixed groups. Chrissie sulked at being made to work with Fergus instead of Jeremy, but he tried not to take it personally. Besides, he was rather of the opinion that he would have been better off with Blaise. He understood the recipe for the potion quite easily and wanted to set it all in motion as soon as possible, but Chrissie insisted on doing things herself and messing them up. They had to start again twice, leaving Fergus feeling quite cross when Draco was roundly praised for his perfect horned slug stew.

At the end of the class, however, he was pleased that he had at least not been stuck with a clumsy Gryffindor named Neville Longbottom. The boy was obviously quite useless, and within a short amount of time he had managed to melt his whole cauldron. Fergus and Chrissie, along with the rest of the class, jumped up onto their stools to prevent the potion from melting their shoes; Longbottom was covered in the mixture, and instead of having a cure for boils, it seemed he had created a potion which induced them. He groaned in pain, lifting a sleeve to show angry red marks all over his arm. Fergus shuddered. Magic was serious, he reminded himself. It was important to take care and to avoid any dangerous mistakes.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus undertakes his first flying lesson.

Flying lessons were at the same time the lesson that Fergus looked forward to the most, and the one he dreaded the most. It was an awfully exciting idea, for a start: to fly around in the air! That wasn’t something any of his friends from muggle school would ever be able to do! But he also knew that it could be very dangerous, and he was not looking forward to the idea of falling off the broom to his untimely death.

His broom was very old, second-hand and quite battered. He had picked it out of the pile of twenty brooms that were scattered on the floor, waiting for the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years to pick them up. This meant two things: first, that he was in class with Jeremy, which he did not like; and second, that Draco had spent the whole morning itching for a fight with Harry Potter. He had muttered darkly at the breakfast table, something about Longbottom and an interruption that morning, how he would have shown them who was boss if it wasn’t for Professor McGonagall.

Their first task, it seemed, was fairly simple. “Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch. “And say, ‘Up!’”

Everyone shouted “UP!” at once, as loudly and forcefully as they could. Far from finding the rough splinters of his broom in his hand, Fergus looked down to see that it had not even so much as twitched. Looking around, he was relieved to see that most people were in a similar position – except for Harry Potter. Draco had a scowl on his face that was quite formidable. 

Fergus watched carefully as Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms. It looked painful. He glanced sideways at Chrissie, but she was concentrating too much for him to get her attention. He reluctantly climbed on top of the broom, holding on to it as tightly as he could. Even though he was not yet in the air, he felt like his head was spinning already. 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” their teacher was saying. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two -”

She never got to number three. Neville Longbottom, the same boy that had messed up in Potions, had already set off, and was rising so high up that Fergus’s stomach twisted over inside of him. Next to him, Chrissie gasped, and grabbed hold of his arm all of a sudden like she had on the boats. His stomach twisted again when he felt that, though in an altogether different way. Then Neville was falling, falling, straight down towards them – and there was a nasty cracking noise when he hit the ground.

Draco was already nudging Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle, and when Madam Hooch left to take Neville to get some help Fergus could almost already predict what was going to happen.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” he laughed, doing a fair impression of Neville.

Chrissie laughed along, and Fergus found himself chuckling a little too – more out of nerves than anything. He had been afraid of the exact same thing happening to him. Of course, a Gryffindor girl, who looked Indian, snapped back at him, and then all bets were off.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Fergus murmured to Chrissie. 

Her shoulders were still shaking with laughter. “Oh, it’s just a bit of fun,” she whispered back.

All too soon, things were very much out of hand. Fergus gave a low, admiring whistle when Draco shot up into the sky, and heard Jeremy whooping when Harry Potter followed him. Fergus was beginning to dislike Harry Potter. It didn’t seem fair that he was just good at everything, just like that. Looking down at his own broom, Fergus couldn’t even imagine following them. 

Along with the other 17 students gathered around, he craned his head up and watched Harry and Draco scuffle over the Remembrall, then swoop back to ground level. McGonagall appeared just in time to lead Harry off by his ear, cueing glum looks and protestations from the Gryffindors. As soon as she was gone, however, Draco turned to his roommates with a grin from ear to ear.

“That’s how you deal with Gryffindors!” he exclaimed triumphantly, to rampant cheers from Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.  
When Madam Hooch finally returned, they were at last allowed to get some real practice in. Fergus’ apprehension had only grown as time passed – he didn’t want to break his wrist, and he knew full well he was never going to be as good as Draco. The best he could hope for was not to embarrass himself.

He drifted only about a foot from the ground on his first try. He was cautious and timid, too afraid to push it further, and his descent was so rapid and urgent that his feet hit the ground before he could control it. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, over and over until he was at least able to rise up a few feet and then return in a controlled manner. It was hard work, and stressful, but at least he seemed to be kind of passably awful at flying.

By his side, Chrissie had at first seemed triumphant, her first flight almost perfect. Since then she had struggled, however – seemingly an attack of beginner’s luck. Fergus was pleased to see that it wasn’t much better for Jeremy, though of course Draco was flying loops around them all. This in particular seemed to annoy Harry’s friends, the ginger one and the girl with messy hair, and the Indian one who had tried to stick up for him.

At last, it was over, and it was time for dinner. That was a relief, and Fergus fervently thanked the solid ground for being there under his feet. All seemed calmer again, except for Draco, who was riled up as soon as he saw Harry Potter enter the hall.

At some point he disappeared over to the Gryffindor table for a while, and then a rumour flew around quickly, student whispering to student. “What’s going on?” Fergus whispered to Chrissie.

“Draco’s challenged Harry to a duel,” she whispered back, giggling with glee. “But it’s a trap. He’s going to get Harry and his stupid friends thrown out of Hogwarts.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween feast rolls around.

The business with the duel, as it turned out, was a bit of a bust in terms of excitement. Whatever happened with Draco’s trap, it didn’t quite work out as planned. Harry Potter was still at Hogwarts, and Draco was in a rage. He was liable to kick anything left on the floor in the dorm room at a moment’s notice, and Fergus soon decided that it was perhaps best if he made sure Odin only fell asleep on his bed.

Two months in, and Draco was still scheming, still spitting about how awful the Potter boy was and how he had no place at Hogwarts. Fergus couldn’t find himself agreeing, but it seemed like Blaise was the only one in the dorm who even dared to roll his eyes from time to time when Draco went on one of his rants. Fergus thought it was best to just keep quiet and stay out of trouble, at any rate.

Since he didn’t have much luck with his flying lessons – he was still struggling just to get off the ground – Fergus heard Professor Flitwick’s announcement that they would be learning how to make things fly with a pit in his stomach. They were paired up randomly, and he ended up with Crabbe. Just perfect. If he’d been with someone who had half a chance of getting the assignment right, he might have felt a bit more optimistic.

“Wingardia Leviosum,” Crabbe intoned in a dull monotone, staring at the feather that stubbornly lay flat on the table between them with a furrowed brow.

“I, um, think we’re supposed to, you know, swish and flick,” Fergus said nervously, demonstrating with his own wand.

“This is stupid,” Crabbe announced, his eyes seeming to descend even further into the recesses of his face as his frown deepened.

Draco wandered across to them with a kind of swagger, a grin pasted across his face. “Haven’t you idiots figured it out yet?” he asked, swishing and flicking perfectly at their feather. “ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_

It hovered into the air briefly, floating up to eye height before dropping down. Draco crossed his arms smugly, raising an eyebrow at them.

“R-right,” Fergus said, trying to concentrate under pressure. He cleared his throat, then tried to repeat what he had seen Draco do as exactly as possible. The feather rose a few inches. It wasn’t much, but at least it was better than what Crabbe had managed.

Fergus peered around for Chrissie to show her what he could do, but caught sight of her standing with Blaise, the pair of them laughing. He had floated his feather right up on top of her head, and she was trying to make it rise off again. Well. Fergus turned back to Crabbe, feeling unnecessarily grumpy, and spent the rest of the class trying to get it to rise further.

 

Two more classes, and then it was time for the Halloween feast. Fergus had been feeling hungry ever since he walked out of the Slytherin common room, sniffing the air to find it loaded with the scent of baking pumpkin. The Great Hall was as impressive as he had come to expect: live bats swooping overhead (making Chrissie shriek and Fergus feel rather nervous himself), golden plates, and of course all of the floating candles gave it a festive feel.

Fergus was enjoying his first few bites of potato salad when a commotion drew everyone’s attention to the other side of the room. Professor Quirrell had run in, looking out of his wits, only to splutter out a sentence that sent icy terror into Fergus’ own veins.

“Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.”

The whole room erupted, students grasping at one another in fear. Fergus stared dumbly at his plate. He had been looking forward to this meal all day. Beside him, Chrissie wasn’t saying anything, but instead was wildly bobbing up and down as she looked for something at the Gryffindor table.

“Prefects,” Dumbledore said loudly, “lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Fergus turned to Chrissie, about to say that they should get moving, but all of a sudden she was nowhere to be seen.

“This way,” the Slytherin prefect called, and Fergus found himself being jostled along with all of the others. When Crabbe and Goyle were trying to walk and you were in the way, you moved. There wasn’t a choice.

He looked around, twisting and even jumping up to try to see above the heads of the students around him, but he only just managed to catch one glimpse of Chrissie’s hair. With a groan, he realised where she was. More importantly, who she was with. Somehow, Chrissie had managed to slip in amongst the Gryffindors, and she was holding tight to Jeremy’s arm.

 

 

The feast soon arrived in the common room, magically appearing on their empty plates just as it had first time around in the Great Hall. Fergus stared down at his plate glumly, eyeing the empty space to his left and wondering if he really had any appetite left at all.

“Cheer up,” Blaise said smoothly, sitting down in the empty seat with a full plate.

“I’m fine,” Fergus said quickly, taking a bite of food as if that would cover up what he had been thinking.

Blaise jostled his shoulder playfully, flashing him a grin. “She’ll probably get in trouble,” he said.

“Who will?” Fergus suddenly decided to find his potatoes as interesting as possible, trying to look like he had no idea what Blaise was talking about.

“Chrissie,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “She’ll get in trouble for sneaking off. I’m sure none of those Gryffindors will stand up for her. She’ll be back where she belongs in no time, and she’ll forget all about them.”

Fergus grunted, neither an agreement nor a reply. It did cheer him up a bit to think of Chrissie getting told off. Anyway, it wasn’t any of his business who she chose to be friends with. He clinked a glass against Blaise’s when prompted, and set upon the feast with more gusto.

That night, when everyone went back to their dorms and Chrissie still hadn’t returned, Fergus told himself that he was simply worried about a friend. More to the point, worried about losing points for Slytherin. It couldn’t have been anything more than that.


	8. Chapter 7

Overnight, Fergus more or less decided that he wasn’t speaking to Chrissie anymore. If she was still alive. And not hurt. If she was dead or hurt then he would probably speak to her again. Well, not if she was dead. Obviously.

Anyway, the point was that he was feeling pretty grumpy about the whole situation, not helped by the fact that the Halloween feast had been more or less ruined. Draco was in a foul mood for days afterwards, bristling with rage about the Potter boy’s involvement and how he hadn’t been punished or expelled. Crabbe and Goyle picked up on his mood, and Blaise was his usual aloof self, so the dorm was not the happiest place to be.

Not that the common room was any better. Draco’s mood only seemed to intensify when they all trooped into the dungeon, and there was something about the atmosphere in there that made you feel all the grumpier. Plus, Chrissie was down there half the time when Fergus was trying to do his homework, and scowling at her was distracting him from getting the tasks finished.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Blaise said at last, almost a full week after the event. He threw his quill down dramatically, and glared at Fergus. “Why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

“What?” Fergus asked, momentarily startled. Blaise waved his hand in the direction of where Chrissie sat with Pansy Parkinson, giggling over a book. Then his scowl came down over his face again, and he shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

“That’s not how it looks from here,” Blaise retorted. “If you’re just going to sit and make faces at her all day, I wish you would do it out of my line of sight.”

“I’m not talking to her, alright?” Fergus snapped, trying to get back to his Potions essay. “I’m annoyed with her.”

Blaise paused a moment, toying with his quill. “She does… _know_ you’re not talking to her, right?”

Fergus glanced up at him, almost lost for words for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, has she even tried to talk to you since the Halloween feast?”

Fergus thought back, his mind racing. “Well, no, but -”

“Then you’re not not talking to her. She’s not talking to you,” Blaise declared smugly.

Fergus scowled deeper, reserving his evil looks for Blaise now as well as Chrissie. “It’s none of your business, anyway,” he said.

“It is if I actually want to hold a normal conversation with anyone in our dorm,” Blaise said. “What you need to do is sharpen your act up a bit more. Make sure she notices you. _Then_ you can ignore her.”

“Oh right, well, I’ll just do that right away,” Fergus said sarcastically. He was fuming, a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“You could start with your clothes,” Blaise said, giving him a meaningful look up and down. “No girl’s going to pay attention to someone dressed like that.”

Fergus glanced down at himself incredulously. “I’m wearing the same robes as everyone else in the whole school,” he said.

“Yes, but most of ours fit,” Blaise laughed, pointing at the overly long hemline that dragged on the ground behind Fergus, and the comically oversized neck hole that kept falling over one of his shoulders.

“It’s economical,” Fergus muttered, turning red to the tips of his ears.

“And your tie, too. It’s always a big mess. Not to mention your collar, which has probably never heard of the word starch. You look like Goyle with your shirt poking out everywhere,” Blaise carried on, apparently unaware of how uncomfortable he was making Fergus feel.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Fergus snapped, hastily trying to tuck his shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “I didn’t realise you were the resident fashion expert around here.”

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. “Just tell me one thing, Brabham,” he said. “What is it that Chrissie’s parents do again?”

“They run a shop,” Fergus said.

“Selling…?”

“Clothes,” he answered, reluctantly.

“Good. So you’re going to want to look smart to get her attention,” Blaise concluded, giving him a smile that was not much more pleasant than the lecturing had been. “We’ll start with neatening you up a bit. Next time there’s an opportunity, we’re going to want to get you some new shoes.”

Fergus half-subconsciously tucked his feet under his chair, hiding the cheap black shoes that were already scuffed around the edges. “I think I liked it better when you were smirking at me in silence,” he muttered.

“You brought this on yourself,” Blaise said, and Fergus groaned.

From then on, it was as if Blaise had a mission, and that mission was improving Fergus’ fashion taste. Draco was already impeccable, and it seemed as though Crabbe and Goyle had been dismissed as lost causes. That left only Fergus as a target for Blaise’s particular skills.

Before the month was over, he was doing his shirt buttons up to the top, even the one at the collar that made him feel like he was half suffocating. His collar was stiff and sharp, his tie always done up expertly. His shirt was always tucked in and his shoes were polished to a shine.

And that was before Blaise even got started on his weekend wardrobe.

Apparently, much to Fergus’ dismay, the large majority of his clothes were completely unacceptable. This was not something that he had known previously, and in fact he was rather surprised to see just how much Blaise turned his nose up at it all.

“My mum picked those out,” he said, alarmed, just as Blaise looked like he might decide to throw a few of his shirts on the dorm fire.

Blaise looked at him, then back at the clothes, then back at him. “Didn’t I read that your mother was muggle-born?” he asked, a sneer very much audible in his tone.

Fergus swallowed nervously. “Yes,” he admitted, fidgeting with his tie.

“Well, it explains everything. You’re a second generation wizard, not a pureblood like the rest of us here. So perhaps you don’t even understand how very… _muggle_ these clothes are.”

The way he spat the word out made it clear that this was not something Fergus would ever, ever want to be.

Fergus hung his head, and took down notes on what Blaise suggested for suitable wizard attire. For an eleven-year-old, the concept of going through the rest of his life wearing only button down shirts as the barest minimum of smartness was more than a little daunting. But then again, Blaise always looked good, and he was already getting his fair share of attention from whichever of the Slytherins weren’t crowding around Draco. So, Fergus thought, perhaps it was better to listen. He made a note to ask for some new clothes from his parents at the earliest opportunity.


	9. Chapter 8

 

Fergus was up in the dorm, trying to make a list of clothes to ask his parents for. He was trying to figure out which bits and pieces he needed the most, versus which ones they would actually be able to afford to buy him. Given that he needed to stipulate the clothes come from wizard shops, and not muggle ones, it was going to be hard to find a bargain.

Blaise had left him perhaps 15 minutes ago to go back to the common room, leaving Fergus staring dismally at a heap of abandoned garments. But now he could hear someone’s footsteps running rapidly on the stairs, and he looked up just in time to see the door burst open.

“It’s Draco,” Blaise said breathlessly, without any preamble. “Come on, you’d better come see.”

Fergus dropped his half-finished list on his bed and rushed over. From the open door, he could already hear some kind of disturbance. He and Blaise raced back to the common room, the sounds of shouting growing louder all the while.

“Don’t be stupid!” someone was shrieking, and as they came around the corner, Fergus saw that it was Pansy Parkinson. She was gesturing wildly at Draco with her wand.

For his part, Draco was standing on the other side of the room, smirking with his arms folded across his chest. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently rushed to his side, and the rest of the Slytherins were looking on with bated breath as the two yelled at each other.

“What are you going to do, Pansy?” Draco asked, then smirked even more, turning to look at Goyle. “I’d be worried if she actually knew any spells.”

“I _do_ know spells!” Pansy screamed hysterically, visibly shaking with rage. She also had a look of desperation, as she evidently tried to think of something that she could do. Finally, she twisted her face with rage, and waved her wand at him with the only spell she could think of. “Wingardium _leviosa_!”

Draco dodged to the side, then burst out laughing. A brass candlestick was hovering perilously in the air behind where he had been standing previously. “Nice one, Pansy,” he cackled. “You really showed me!”

Pansy let out a growl of rage, and stomped her foot on the floor. Suddenly the candlestick fell with a clatter, scattering bits of wax across the floor. Draco cried out momentarily when it looked like the flame might settle on his robe, but it quickly extinguished itself on the stones.

“Oh, go eat a rotten dragon’s egg, Malfoy! I don’t even like you anyway!” Pansy shouted, and turned and flounced away through the door to the girls’ dormitories.

“What on earth was all that about?” Fergus whispered, as the other Slytherins around the room started to relax.

“Someone suggested that Pansy had a crush on Draco,” Blaise replied, barely able to hold back his glee. “He remarked that he was only interested in Pureblood girls, to which she said that she is one, thanks very much. Then he said that Malfoys are the purest of the lot and Parkinsons don’t even come close. Well, then she started to get a bit upset.”

“What a load of hassle,” Fergus said, shaking his head.

“It’s not hassle, it’s an opportunity,” Blaise said sagely. “For you, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. Pansy isn’t talking to Draco. Which means that Millicent and Daphne aren’t talking to him either. And neither is…”

“Chrissie,” Fergus filled in, seeing where Blaise’s mind was going logically. “So you think we can talk to them instead?”

“You’re learning well,” Blaise said, patting him on the arm proudly.

Pansy and Draco didn’t talk for weeks. It was excruciating to be in the dorm at times, with Draco pacing around in a foul mood. He was pretending that he didn’t care about the group of silly girls, but it was really rather clear that he did care after all. His position as king of the first years was being disputed, and he didn’t like it at all.

There was one spark of light during those few weeks, and that was the arrival of a package delivered by owl with Fergus’ name on it. When he opened it, he was awed to find a bundle of robes and clothes from Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

“Perfect,” Blaise pronounced, when he saw Fergus dressed up in his new clothes. “Perhaps your mother isn’t so much of a muggle after all. She certainly knows where to shop.”

Draco was walking by on the way to his side of the room at that moment, and he paused momentarily. “Huh,” he said, looking Fergus up and down. “Brabham. It seems you _do_ have a sense of style after all. I had written you off, but maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Fergus knew that Draco half meant it as an insult, and that it was a throwaway comment anyway. But still, the words filled him with pride. He glanced at Blaise with a slight flush on his face, and realised that the other boy was giving him a knowing look. He nodded, as if to say, _see? I told you it would make all the difference_.

Fergus glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wardrobe door, and nodded in return. Maybe this was the start of a new Fergus – one who wouldn’t just be ignored.

At the end of that week, Pansy and Draco finally made up, when they were grudgingly forced to work together in Potions. But the opportunity had not been wasted. Blaise had made himself very pally indeed with the gaggle of girls, and Fergus tagged along often. And though each of them had engaged him in conversation at one point or another, there was just one girl he had deliberately not spoken to or even looked at yet. Chrissie. From the corner of his eye, he noticed her staring at him with a sulky expression in the common room. He grinned to himself. Looks like Blaise’s plan had been a rousing success all round.


	10. Chapter Nine

“So who are you working on your charms project with?” Chrissie asked unexpectedly.

They had been sitting in the common room in silence, Fergus working away at a particularly odious piece of homework at the table. Chrissie had been curled up with _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by the fireplace, twisting one of her unruly locks of hair around one finger.

At first Fergus thought she was talking to someone else, but when he glanced up, he saw that she was looking right at him. She had a pouty expression, as if annoyed that she had to ask the question.

“Er,” Fergus said, not particularly having an answer ready to hand.

“Great,” Chrissie announced. “I don’t have a partner yet either. So we’ll work together.”

She got up and flounced over to the chair next to him, putting her book down with a thump. She pulled the piece of paper he had been labouring over towards her and started scanning it.

Within a few minutes she was taking over and criticising everything he wrote, but Fergus couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like Blaise really was the master of psychology. He was going to have to learn as much as he could from him this year.

It was getting colder, and the air was full of the promise of snow. Students were starting to excitedly chatter about what they would be doing over the Christmas holiday, and Fergus couldn’t help but feel a little envious. Christmas had never been a big thing in his household; his parents weren’t exactly rich, especially since they had chosen to bring him up in the Muggle world until he came of age for Hogwarts. There weren’t a lot of professions where you could get away with using magic in the Muggle world, so they struggled by on the kind of salaries an unskilled witch and wizard could afford. He didn’t really understand why, especially since he looked at his friends.

Draco was going off to spend the break at his family’s mansion, and Chrissie would be attending a Christmas gala held to promote her parents’ shop. Blaise was going off to a ski lodge for the festive season. It all seemed so unfair to think that he was going back to a little dead-end street in the middle of nowhere to enjoy a small turkey and a couple of cheap presents.

Maybe that was what caught Draco’s eye. After all, Fergus hadn’t been quiet about it. In retrospect, perhaps he should have been.

“Look,” he said, as Fergus innocently made his way into their dorm room. “Brabham. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Fergus eyed him uneasily. The words he used, and the way that he said them, were making him feel uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that Crabbe and Goyle were looming over his shoulders like stone bodyguards. “What is it?” he asked, reluctantly.

“Well,” Draco began, casting a dramatic look around the room. “It’s like this. You’ve been saying how you don’t really fancy going home for Christmas, right? How it’s all a bit boring back home?”

“Right,” Fergus agreed, suddenly wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

“Well, how about this?” Draco asked, grinning ear-to-ear. “It turns out that there’s someone else who’s staying at Hogwarts over the winter. Someone I would very much like an eye kept on.”

Fergus connected the dots in his head with a sinking feeling. “Potter,” he stated, earning a grin and nods from the three antagonists opposite him.

“So, how about it, then?” Draco asked.

Fergus looked at him. “How about what?” he asked blankly.

Draco sighed, shook his head briefly, and started again. “I want Potter observed. All winter. By someone who is staying here all winter too. Someone who doesn’t mind staying.”

“Me,” Fergus said, feeling a little hollow.

There was a pause; Draco glanced up at Crabbe and Goyle, a slightly concerned look on his face. “Alright, I can see you’re having trouble with the idea,” Draco said. “How about this? You stay here and send me regular reports on what’s going on. In return for each piece of interesting information you give me, I’ll hand over one of my Christmas presents.”

Fergus thought about this for a moment. “One of the good ones?” he asked.

Draco scoffed. “I only get good ones,” he said.

“So,” Fergus summarised, “You want me to spy on Potter over the holiday, in exchange for which I can have your Christmas presents.”

“Yes,” Draco nodded.

Fergus paused for another moment. “Alright,” he said, at last. “It’s a deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

His parents were a little disappointed to hear he wouldn’t be coming home, but he told them that his friends were staying too. It wasn’t totally a lie. Plenty of people would still be roaming around the corridors. Besides, he wouldn’t have had time to hang out with Blaise or Chrissie if he was trailing around after Potter. They promised to send his presents on Christmas Day, and that was that.

The dorm was surprisingly lonely on the first few nights. He had never thought that it would be strange not to sleep in a room with four other boys. It had taken him long enough to get used to it in the first place, but now everything felt far too quiet.

One thing he was glad to be shot off, though, was Crabbe’s snoring – as well as Draco’s occasional muttered curse and slipper flung at the other boy’s head.

Still, there was nothing much to report after all. He kept close to Potter and his ginger friend, trying to hear their conversations when he could. The only time he lost them was when they retreated to the Gryffindor common room, where he was not allowed to tread. But the good news for him was that they were often given to walk around the school and grounds, wandering and chatting animatedly.

There was nothing to report until the holidays were halfway over. That was when Christmas day finally came. When he woke up on that morning, of course Fergus knew it was a special day. But he had no idea what he was going to witness before his head hit the pillow next.


	11. Chapter 10

Christmas morning dawned not like any other. Christmas was always special. Even while you were waking up, you could feel it in your bones. It was nothing like the rest of the year.

Except that this year, Fergus was walking up alone. There was no one else in the dorm – no one to wish him merry Christmas or excitedly open presents with him. Which is not to say that there weren’t presents at the end of his bed, reading and waiting to be opened. It just felt a little sad to be doing it alone.

Still, he shuffled across the bed and grabbed up the parcels, wrapped in glittering and foiled paper with decorations of trees and snowmen. It was not without excitement that he started tearing into the paper, happy to see what he had received.

He opened the present from Blaise first – a pair of cufflinks. They weren’t expensive by any means, but Blaise had carefully selected a pair that would go with Fergus’ formal robes and weren’t too juvenile, so they would last him for a few years. He smiled and set them aside.

Fergus opened the package from his parents next, and was happy to see a new set of clothes from them just like he had asked for, as well as a couple of muggle books that were apparently very popular. The other three presents on the end of his bed were somewhat surprising: each of them had a signed tag, and his eyebrow twitched upwards when he read that one was from Draco. More surprising still was the next, from Chrissie. But most surprising of all was that there was a present from Jeremy, too.

He tore open Jeremy’s first, not at all surprised from the shape to discover that it was a football. He stared at it for a moment, wondering whether to take it as a joke or an actual invitation to play sports with the other boy. He had to be kidding, right?

Chrissie’s was next – he had planned to open it last, but after the disappointment of the football, he needed cheering up. Inside the carefully wrapped box was a neat pair of formal shoes, shining and ready to be worn. He noted the label that named her parents’ shop as their point of origin, and smiled to himself. Chrissie probably hadn’t spent anything on them, but she had thought enough of him to pick out shoes in his size, and that warmed his heart. Not only that, but it sent funny little feelings all over him, and prickles in his spine. He grinned like an idiot for at least a minute before putting the shoes aside and picking up the last present.

It was from Draco, and it felt quite heavy. This one was wrapped simply – a brown cardboard box tied together with brown string. He untied it and lifted the lid, not quite sure of what he was expecting.

He lifted out a small brass spyglass. It glinted in the candlelight as he drew it out, admiring it in awe. As he lifted it up, a small white card fell from under it and back into the box. He picked it up quickly, recognising Draco’s neat script.

_It’s charmed so you can see around corners and down long corridors. Use it on H – Draco_

There was no mistaking who “H” was, that was for sure. Fergus put the spyglass to his eye and look over to the side. Sure enough, even though he was still sitting on his bed, he could see right round the side of Blaise’s bed to where his side cabinet was. The view was a little hazy, but that was a fair exchange to make for being able to see at angles.

He packed it back away into the box excitedly, deciding to try on his new shoes and even the cufflinks before leaving the dorm. He spent a good while checking out his new clothes, but eventually he had to admit to himself that it was time to leave the dorm. He walked out of the eerily quiet room and down into the common room, which was also mostly empty. Only a handful of Slytherins had remained, but he walked with them over to the Christmas feast all the same.

What a feast it was! His mum had never cooked anything on this scale before. Sure, her food was tasty, but normally she stuck to muggle cooking techniques – and this was something else. He ate roast turkey, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce, buttered peas, and chipolatas, all drowned in gravy. He even pulled a few wizard crackers with the other Slytherins at his table. All the while, however, he was surreptitiously glancing over at Potter and the Weasleys, and trying to listen in on what they were saying. Too bad Draco hadn’t sent him a magical listening device.

Finally they ate flaming Christmas puddings, and Fergus gathered up his goodies from the crackers happily. He was just scooping a couple of white mice (a present for Odin, even though the thought made him shudder) and some luminous balloons into his pockets when he noticed Harry Potter leaving the table, and thought he had better jump up and follow him.

It was lonely without Chrissie or Blaise around, and even more so as he watched Harry and Ron having a snowball fight and playing wizard chess.

He was almost ready to give up following them, but it was Christmas Day and somehow the thought of going back to the dorm on his own was horrible. That’s how he found himself wandering around the corridors outside the Gryffindor common room, waiting for something to happen, after Harry and Ron had already gone inside. He sat down for a moment behind a statue and, full of a dinner of turkey sandwiches and Christmas cake, soon fell asleep.

He was woken suddenly by a shout from the other side of the corridor: it was the Fat Lady, saying, “Who’s there?”

Fergus opened his eyes and quickly swung his head around, scanning the corridor to see if he could spot anyone. There was nothing, so he fixed the spyglass to his eye and looked around the corner on both sides. Still nothing.

Barely daring to breath, Fergus was absolutely silent; and that was when he heard the footsteps. They scuttled by him and then off into the distance. He looked around wildly with both his eyes and the spyglass, but saw nothing at all.

The moment left him shaken. Had someone been there at all, or was it the remnants of a dream? He shuddered to think about it. Looking at his watch in the gloom, he soon realised that it was well past time to be in his dorm. Perhaps the professors would be lenient given that it was Christmas, but he would rather not find out. He slipped out of his hiding place and started to walk, slowly and cautiously, through the corridors towards the dungeon. Using the spyglass to check the corridors ahead of him, he saw no one at all.

He was just about to start heading downstairs when he heard it: a bloodcurdling scream, echoing faintly from across in the main Hogwarts building. For a moment he thought about going over there, crossing the bridge and finding out what was going on, but his blood ran cold. There was no way he had the guts to do that. If Draco was here he would have gone, no doubt, but he wasn’t here, not now. If he wanted to brave dangerous situations then he should have been here himself.

The next morning, Harry and Ron seemed furtive, talking with their heads close together. Fergus just knew that they had something to do with the scream, and the invisible footsteps too. He was just going to have to stick close by them if he was going to find out what it was.


	12. Chapter 11

The next night, Fergus was ready. He was wrapped up warm in a cloak that would keep him going all night, and he deliberately ate a little less at dinner so that he would be less likely to fall asleep. He was armed with the spyglass, and he was ready.

So it was that he was sitting behind the statue near the Gryffindor common room when the door opened again, startling the Fat Lady, and when a pair of footsteps started to move past him. They were slower this time, much to his relief. Although the spyglass still showed him nothing – and neither did a hasty glance up the corridor once the footsteps had passed – he had to follow what his senses could perceive. Right now, that meant listening very hard.

He tried to move as soundlessly as possible. He didn’t want whoever was walking to hear him, too. He also deployed as much caution as possible. His first objective was not to get caught, and his second was to have something to report to Draco. With that in mind, he always waited until the footsteps had almost faded out of hearing, or until they seemed to have turned a corner. Then he would creep after them, somehow moving much faster, and hide behind another statue.

A couple of times he thought that he would get caught by one of the paintings on the walls, but they all seemed to be asleep. Even though they might have been magical, it seemed like painted people couldn’t see behind statues or carved columns either, so whenever one did open its eyes for a moment, they went back to sleep without a sound.

Fergus was baffled by where the footsteps were going. After an hour or so, he began to feel a sense of paranoia. What if the people – who at this point he was already thinking of as Harry and someone else, because no one else was stupid enough to wander the halls at night – knew he was following them? What if they were just leading him around in circles on purpose to play a trick on both him and Draco?

Just then, as he was about to give up, he heard voices.

“I’m freezing,” someone whispered. Fergus recognised it as Ron Weasley. He had been right, then. “Let’s forget it and go back.”

Fergus crept a tiny bit closer behind his statue, straining to hear.

“No!” Harry replied, his voice strained. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

They went silent suddenly, though their footsteps continued. Fergus took the risk of leaning out around the statue and looking ahead, and then jerked back behind it – just in time! A ghost was floating silently down the corridor, a long-dead witch with a mournful expression. She hadn’t seen him, out of pure luck. It seemed that she hadn’t heard Ron and Harry either, and their footsteps had momentarily paused as she passed by.

When he was sure the witch was gone, Fergus crept forward again. Harry and Ron must have gained some time on him, and he rushed forward as quietly as he could. He could no longer hear footsteps. He heard a hushed whisper ahead, and then – suddenly – a door opened in the corridor.

Fergus glued himself to the wall, his heart racing. Had he been seen? He lifted the spyglass to his eye just in time to see the door swinging shut.

Damn. Now what?

He was considering going back to the dorm and calling it a night. After all, he couldn’t open the door without risking getting caught by Harry and Ron. He could hear them talking inside, their voices muffled but sounding excited. From this distance away, he couldn’t make out any of the actual words – but whatever they were talking about sounded pretty interesting.

Then Fergus saw something through the spyglass that made his breath catch in his throat. Mrs Norris, prowling down the corridor with a determined stride. Her luminous eyes were fixed on the door, and she quickly nosed it open.

Fergus took that as his cue. He turned and ran as quietly as he could, all the way back to the Slytherin dungeons.

 

\---

 

“What do you mean, it was just here?” Draco demanded, looking furious.

It was the day before term was due to begin, and Fergus had dutifully reported all that he had seen and heard. When Draco heard about the door, he was determined to go and find out what was inside. So, Draco, Fergus, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise all found themselves standing in a corridor near the library, casting furtive glances up and down to check no one else was coming.

“I’m sure of it,” Fergus said, miserably. “Look, see, this is the statue I was hiding behind. Over there was a knight in armour, and the door was next to it. It was _right there_ , I swear it was.”

“Is this some sort of trick?” Draco snarled, rounding on him suddenly. “Are you working with Potter to lead me on a wild goose chase? I’ll make your life not worth living if you are, Brabham, you know I will.”

Fergus quailed, but Blaise, who had been standing impassively off to one side, spoke up.

“He’s telling the truth, Draco,” he said, sounding bored. “Obviously he is. Hogwarts is a _magic castle_. Why are you surprised if a door or two goes missing?”

Draco hissed and spat, looking more like a wildcat or a snake for that moment than an 11-year-old boy. “This is ridiculous. We’ll find out what Potter’s up to. Mark my words.”

With that, he swept out of the corridor angrily, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him. Fergus merely leaned against the wall. He had a sinking feeling that Blaise had just saved him from the beating of his life.

“Let’s get out of here,” Blaise suggested laconically, as if nothing at all had happened. Fergus suspected that this was Blaise’s idea of being kind.

“Right,” Fergus said, swallowing the lump in his throat and starting to walk after him.

It could be worse, he told himself as they left the corridor. He could be Neville Longbottom. At least he wasn’t getting it _that_ bad yet.


End file.
